


(De)cipher

by sharkie



Series: alterity [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Characters, Canon Rewrite, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Other, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-17 14:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/pseuds/sharkie
Summary: Cipher: noun. 1.a method of transforming a text in order to conceal its meaning; a secret message; the key to a secret message.2.one that has no weight, worth, or influence; a nonentityTwo generations of aliens and outsiders become entangled in conspiracies, feuds, and dubious legacies.





	1. Framing Device

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for violence, sexual references (no smut), and emotional abuse as a theme at some point.

16** ATC  
**_**The ** _ **Casisah K'in'cuci, _above an unidentified moon_**

Saying the Phantom was cold would be an understatement.

That hadn't stopped Theron from doing so three times.

Lana, however, remained unresponsive, deep in thought as she paced up and down the starkly lit centre of the starship's deck. Theron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze wandering over the surrounding walls.

Official Imperial vessels struck Theron as ominous no matter who the occupants had been: built either too sleek or too angular, with spotless interiors as if they’d never been lived in - hell, like they’d never been sneezed in. It didn't help that most of an X-70B Phantom’s controls were biometrically sealed, including the lights and thermostat. He could try to slice into the system, but the thought of tampering made him uneasy, even uneasier than he’d been when Lana first declared she’d found the former Cipher Nine’s ship.

Just as he began strongly envisioning climbing into an (unreasonably shiny) escape pod and ejecting himself into the nearest sun, Lana halted at the centre of the room.

“It's quieter than I thought it would be,” she said.

Exhaling was unexpectedly painful, a...well, _ phantom _knot twisting in his chest. “I know, right?”

“I imagined there would be an ambient sound generator triggered by the main door opening, at the very least.”

“Guess they made all the noise manually,” he joked.

The subsequent pause threatened to stretch for ages. Her pacing resumed without a second glance, made all the more uncomfortable by her relapse into silence. The knot in his chest tightened as the magnitude of silence returned. Thankfully, it didn’t last for much longer.

Lana halted again with her back to Theron, hands planted on her hips. “What do we know about them, truly?” The question was directed at him but spoken towards the floor. “And I don't mean ‘they made us happy’ or ‘they were good people’. I'm talking about real things.”

“I think those were real.”

“You know what I mean. Facts and tangible evidence.”

“Oh, sure. Not feelings. Which are imaginary. Anyway, they're both in short supply right now.”

She whipped around to face him then, lips pinched and brow furrowed - earlier, he'd noticed that her eyes had turned a deeper, more vibrant shade of yellow within the past year, approaching light orange. Theron stood as a wordless answer to her unspoken challenge, matching her pose until they relented in near-perfect sync.

“I ran background checks shortly after I was appointed as Minister,” said Lana; only she could make a stiffly straightening posture seem comparatively relaxing. “There were no records of a recent Cipher Nine or Watcher Five, even in reports involving the _ Dominator _ or former Imperial Intelligence personnel. However, there were occasional mentions of two unspecified aliens in reports on Darth Imperius. Never more than a few lines.”

Theron rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall behind him. “So much for Chiss thoroughness.”

“Did you fare any better with the SIS?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I had a theory that Cipher Nine was multiple people until I actually met her.”

“Like the Mountain on Nar Shaddaa,” Lana recalled.

“Exactly. Most of our information was informal, from witnesses. There was a report claiming a Chiss Cipher Nine died during the Battle of Corellia, but that obviously wasn’t true. I tried to compile the rest myself after we met on Manaan and, uh, but...” He made a vague gesture. “Yeah.”

“I assume any existing information is low on specific details.”

The ‘details’ they had consisted of months of isolated security holocam footage and cryptically-worded self-flagellation. Theron had spent five minutes sifting through them before getting a headache and taking a stress nap filled with weird dreams.

“Didn’t need ‘em,” he claimed airily. “They were Cipher agents. You _ hear _ stuff.”

“Maybe _ you _did.” This time, when her lips pinched, it was with a hint of amusement. “Let me guess: seduction, sleek ships, slowly walking away from explosions?”

“Pretty much.”

“And would you say that’s similar to your experience in the SIS?”

“Well. No. The explosions, yeah, but I tend to run from those.” Theron ran a gloved hand down the wall, a smooth wall that probably hadn’t been touched in around two years. Even Intelligence’s grime was covert. “I always figured Imperial Intelligence was more...glamorous. Bigger, longer history, more funding, more intensive training -”

“Don’t forget Sith interference and rumours of corruption.”

He bit back a retort. Lashing out would be unhelpful, not to mention inaccurate. So far, Lana's tenure as Minister of Intelligence had put her in surprisingly little direct conflict with the SIS. The Sith Empire had been unaccustomed to being the conquered instead of the aggressor; a power vacuum had been ripped open in the Dark Council following the disappearances of Darth Imperius and the Wrath and the confirmed death of Darth Marr, a vacuum steadily growing with each fresh wave of casualties.

Meanwhile, Theron had been reinstated much sooner than expected, thanks to Zakuul's sudden appearance and that incident on Nar Shaddaa with the brawl and the jukebox. (_No, _he thought sharply, _no, repress repress repress_.) But he kept being assigned to desk jobs concerning the collapsing Jedi Order and he didn't need to wonder why.

Cooled hostilities between their factions meant Lana and Theron had been able to risk infrequent meetings in neutral territory. They'd learned - separately - that the previous Minister of Intelligence had left substantial resources for his former agents: blackmail material, secret deals, contacts neither government wanted on their payroll. What had once been passing comments in casual conversations had become their best chance to independently combat the Eternal Empire. The problem was learning where those resources were and how to use them.

“You could try to usher in a new era,” Theron said. And paused for emphasis. “Or make sure there's any era at all.”

Lana sighed. “You understand that what we’re considering is a conflict of interest.”

“Yeah, in the sense that there was a conflict and we’re both interested in it. That went well once.” He shifted against the wall, sporting a smirk he didn’t quite feel. “Mostly.”

Some of his scars from Rishi could be healed, but they were located _ so _conveniently to reveal during disagreements.

“Fine,” said Lana, teeth not clenched nearly as hard as the fist by her side.

“Fine.”

They exchanged heated glances that were almost renewed glares, but she didn’t comment further and he didn't prod. The less they talked about their particular past or the agents or their particular pasts with the agents, the better.

Lana looked over her shoulder as if she anticipated an attack. “Let's continue this discussion in the captain's quarters.”

“Why?” Theron asked, dragging out the _h _and _y _for as long as he thought he could get away with, to mask the clutch of dread seizing his heart.

“I think you should see several things.”

That hadn't been in her message. He pushed off the wall with a curt nod and caught himself before innocuously asking something like, _Do you know the way? _Close call.

“Have you spoken to Captain Siennh recently?” she asked as they walked down the corridor, obviously feigning professional disinterest.

Now the knot in Theron’s chest was complemented by a swift kick to the gut. “No, actually. Last I heard, she was headed for Wild Space without a destination in mind.” He groaned, louder than intended. “I don’t know why _ everyone _goes to Wild Space.”

“Perhaps it’s a primal yearning for freedom.”

“If she gets any freer, she might poof out of existence.” He winced at his own phrasing. “Not…as well as them, though.”

Lana pressed her bare thumb to a wall-mounted scanner outside the bedroom. The door slid open with a _whoosh_ quieter than a typical door's; she stood aside to let Theron enter first.

“Here it is,” she said, with an earnestness that was either mostly forced or being suppressed, “as I found it.”

Predictably, it was karking _freezing_. But he was surprised to discover that the overhead lighting was less stark; a separate panel of smaller lights cast a warm glow over a desk console cluttered with holoimage frames and loose sheets of flimsiplast. Civilian clothes were strewn around the floor and draped over the furniture, some inside-out. One cabinet door had been left ajar. And -

His breath caught in his throat, feet continuing to walk of their own accord. Theron came to an awkward stop at the foot of the bed. The sheets were rumpled and unmade, pillows slightly indented. At the centre of the mattress were two small stacked boxes, but he paid them little attention for the moment. He removed a glove and touched the duvet below.

For the first time today, his fingers shook.

Lana couldn’t return his questioning stare, focusing on lifting a datapad from the desk console instead. “I don’t see any reason why you can’t.”

“You sure they’re not top-secret Imperial Intelligence sheets?” As he sat, he dimly realised he'd missed a prime opportunity to joke about being undercover. Today really _was_ weird. He didn't know what to do with his hands or his expression. Blinking. Blinking as he gazed into the distance was good. “Her droid didn’t clean in here?”

“Apparently he couldn’t enter without clearance.”

Still winded, Theron peered at the bedside table and automatically catalogued the objects on the surface: a single heavily wilted flower in a slim vase; a framed holoimage of Cipher Nine’s crew, who’d since scattered to parts unknown; and, most fetchingly, a silver-chained necklace holding a red crystal jagged like it had been part of a larger one. He tore his eyes away when Lana cleared her throat.

“I did manage to acquire one major document of theirs: joint wills.” She met his astonished stare over the datapad. “Strange, isn’t it? Barely a trace of their lives on record, yet their wills were the easiest thing to find.”

“Too much free time, huh.” _ Too many near-death experiences_. “How far did you have to dig?”

“It was a file on this datapad labelled ‘not joint wills’. In Basic.”

“Oh.”

“So, I believe we have a few leads -” Lana counted them off on the fingers of her free hand, “- including the abandoned dreadnought _ Tenebrous _ at these coordinates_; _a marked spot in the Icefall Plains on Hoth; and an archive of objects called ‘Vitalicrons’ on Voss.” She double-checked the last item on the list and sighed. “‘‘On Voss’. Of course, Niayes, that’s incredibly helpful.”

“It’s something to go on, at least. Anything else?” He’d learned he needed to ask about these things.

“These holodiscs,” she answered readily, nodding towards the boxes next to him. “I haven’t watched past the first one.”

Theron saw her fingers clenching and unclenching on the sides of the datapad. “Why are you suspicious?”

“They're more confusing than the will. Take a look.”

Opening the top box, he was immediately struck by the _varieties_ of holodiscs. He opened the second and saw that the whole collection ranged from meticulously labelled Imperial Intelligence-issue cases dated 18 BTC, to unlabelled generic cases dated 12 ATC. Some hadn't been labelled or dated at all. The ATC tapes had been stored in chronological order, but the BTC and other tapes appeared to have been randomly inserted between them.

For any other pair of people, he’d entertain the possibility of coincidental messiness, but…

“It must've been deliberate,” he said, and plucked out the first holodisc, dated 10 ATC.

“I thought so, too.” Lana's frown had deepened. “But is it a message, or just sentiment?”

“Could be both.” Theron fixed her with a knowing glance. “I don't think she ever communicated one without the other.”

“Wonderful.”

“We'll have to watch all the tapes to understand. Hey, I’m a spy, you’re a Sith...spy-related...person,” Theron reminded her, when she sagged out of premature exhaustion at his answer. “Between us, I'm sure we'll learn the full story, or close to it.” He shrugged. “How complicated could it be?”


	2. Red Blade

**Late **9** ATC  
****_Jigunna Spaceport, Nal Hutta_**

“...yeah, it’s a straight chain, but it’s...I dunno, funny. They were made in Balmorra last week, changed hands a couple times here, and now they’re headed to Ord Mantell.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny.”

“Those blasters’ve seen more of the galaxy than most of the people firing ‘em.”

The snort of Captain Siennh’s not-so-rapt audience was modulated by the helmet covering his whole head. Fine. Beyond the initial spark of interest, she hadn’t been that impressed with the walking suit of bulky armor, either. She’d approached him in the first place because she often found herself drawn to the strong, silent type, namely how they could move heavy objects and didn’t talk.

This lug was probably a bust. But she felt compelled to continue the conversation, if only to irritate him further. She was resourceful like that.

“What’d you say your name was?” she asked, loosely wrapping her lekku around the base of her neck.

“The Red Blade.”

“First name ‘the’, middle name ‘red’, or…?”

The helmet somehow effused annoyance despite its full face guard; the man himself was silent. With a prolonged shrug, Siennh turned away to scan the surrounding hangars for a better source of excitement. She didn’t have to look far.

Chiss? Out of Imperial space? On _ Hutta? _

Chissyness aside, the man would’ve blended in with any of the regular low-lives in Jigunna, thanks to his loose swagger and hard-set jaw, battered jacket clinging to him like it was afraid it might fall to pieces. The woman was a different matter - maybe not to most of the downcast citizens, but obvious enough to Siennh’s eye. She wore a dark red scarf wrapped over a high-necked sweater, black hair tightly pulled into a ponytail that was likely the neatest thing for miles. Her expression was softer than her companion’s, save for the seemingly permanently quirked corner of her lips; her strides were more stunted than his, though she walked ahead as if she was meant to be leading him.

Both Chiss were beneath the same gassy sunlight, had the same opaque red eyes, but his blazed like a fire and hers glowed like signals in a fog. Humans usually found helmets easier to read. _They all look the same,_ a human smuggler had told Siennh not long ago, after he'd returned from Imperial space. _Those damn creepy eyes. _

The Red Blade had noticed them, too. Intently. He snarled and whipped out his carbine as they neared a boarding shuttle. The woman was turning her head slightly, glancing around as if searching for something. Or someone.

“Friends of yours?” Siennh quipped.

The Red Blade ignored her as he stalked towards the pair.

Ah, the advantages of an underdeveloped spaceport. Siennh inched closer. While busying herself by fiddling with random crates, she overheard snatches of their tense conversation: the Chiss woman had impersonated the Blade for weeks, in the streets of Jigunna, in Nem’ro’s palace, for reasons yet to be determined. The other Chiss had posed as her...sidekick, or something. They’d been scheduled to skeddadle offworld today. Then the real Blade had unexpectedly landed an hour before their shuttle, giving him enough time to hear about their exploits in the spaceport and intercept them here.

_ Well, well,_ Siennh thought, _ so much for Chiss superiority_. What unfortunate luck. What a terrible lack of foresight from people who really should know better. What -

“Captain!” a familiar voice called.

“Oh shit,” she groaned. “Shitshitshit_shit_.”

Siennh didn’t need to turn around to know that a heavily-armored and excessively-armed Rattataki was pointing a blaster at the back of her head.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” drawled Vojja Draxiss.

“So how the hell d’you keep doing it?”

“I was being nice, it’s actually really simple.”

“You still wearing that stupid hat?” _ Fedora,_ Siennh recalled, but she wouldn’t grant her enemy the satisfaction of accurate terminology.

“Why don’t you face me with your hands up and check?” Vojja retorted.

Fifteen planets. _ Fifteen _planets and they kept ending up in this position, trading insults with a blaster aimed at Siennh. Meanwhile, the Red Blade raised his voice at the Chiss, drawing himself closer to tower over them until they had to tilt their heads upwards. Siennh began to lift her hands slower than a ronto drowning in a tar pit, eyeing the tips of her boots as she experimentally flexed her toes.

A beeping loader droid unobtrusively passed through the small gap between the two confrontations.

“Don't make me do this the hard way,” Vojja added.

“All right, take it easy…” said Siennh.

A shower of sand sprayed in Vojja’s face. She fired automatically, but Siennh had stumbled out of the way and, after a heart-stoppingly awkward moment to right her footing, sped off.

“Bad choice!” Vojja yelled, and fired a few warning shots.

“Listen to me, Blade,” the Chiss woman implored, desperation intensifying with each word, “there’s been a misunderstanding - ”

“I’d say keep your hat on,” Siennh shouted at Vojja, “but it already seems permanently grafted to your skull!”

“Oh?” The Blade chuckled darkly, looming over the Chiss. “I need to hear this.”

“I never wanted any of this to happen, I swear!” the fake Blade cried. As Siennh ran for her life (or liberty, or pride, or something else equally important and regularly staked on impulse), she reflected that the fake Blade’s accent was...off. “I was being blackmailed. They threatened my family, my friends…” The woman drew in a ragged breath that ended in an emotional choke. “They said if I didn’t pretend to be the Blade, everyone I cared about was _ dead! _”

The real Blade pointed at the other Chiss with the end of his carbine. “Who’s that, then?”

The other Chiss stayed silent, regarding the fake Blade with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s...uh, my brother. It’s a long story.”

Siennh continued to be chased around the perimeter of their adjoining docking bays. Her ship was the only chance for escape - she had to find a way to shake her pursuer, run there, _ and _climb the ramp to the entrance.

“Give it up, Captain!” the bounty hunter shouted.

“We’re in a _ spaceport,_ Draxiss!” Siennh yelled back, lekku swaying with the _ thump-thump _of each step. “There’s hundreds of captains! Be more specific!”

She glanced at the Chiss - and saw that the Red Blade was handing the woman his carbine while the other Chiss looked on in barely suppressed disapproval. What the everloving fuck? She couldn’t dwell on it much, too busy dodging the shots volleying around her feet.

“...die like one of the Blades,” the real Red Blade finished.

Siennh would have to act fast. Her concentration was briefly pierced by sounds of exertion that weren’t her own, followed by a type of blaster rifle shots she hadn’t heard earlier. It seemed that the fake Blade’s ‘brother’ was also participating in the scrap. Hardly seemed like a fair fight, but hey, who was she to judge.

“Idiot says ‘what’!” Siennh shouted, whipping around and diving in the ship’s direction as she fired her pistol haphazardly.

One shot knocked the blaster clean out off Vojja’s hand. Siennh hit the ground close to the _ Ayydaesha,_ winded by the impact but basking in triumph.

Vojja glanced at the blaster impassively, stared back at Siennh, and said, “I have a flamethrower.”

“What?”

_ That _hadn't been in her arsenal any of the past fifteen times. Siennh scrambled backwards on her elbows until she literally hit the ship.

“You know,” she heard the fake Blade addressing her companion between irregular blaster shots, “this would be less of a problem if Kaliyo were here!”

“Or she might’ve sold us out!” he responded, in a similar accent with a thickness and dubiousness to rival hers.

“Not to some random thug without a sense of humour!”

The Red Blade protested the affront to his character by charging headfirst at the pretender, intending to knock her rifle from her hands - the other Chiss came between them and tried to shiv the Blade in the side, but the plating where he struck proved too thick to penetrate. The Blade grabbed him by the wrist, threw him to the ground and prepared to blast him -

Siennh pressed herself against the _ Ayydaesha’_s hull, glaring at Vojja. She didn’t even have the decency to whip out the karking flamethrower she’d mentioned, grinning as she aimed her blaster again instead -

The _ unmistakably _Imperial voice of the fake Blade shouted, “Close your eyes!”

Siennh followed on reflex. A flash bang detonated.

She twisted, clutching the door handle as the hangar bay filled with smoke and blinding light; Vojja’s next shot missed by an inch, bouncing harmlessly off the matrix-armored hull. As Siennh wrenched the door open, a different-sounding shot fired, capped off by a heavy thud.

Obscured by the smoke, Siennh staggered inside and slammed the panel to close the door.

“The lesson is, don’t be a Blade in a rifle fight,” she heard the other Chiss say...still in his fake accent, right before the door finished closing.

A minute later, she’d made a mad dash to the cockpit and leapt into her seat without pause. The smoke from the flash bang was rapidly dissipating; Vojja was still out there, probably planting a kriffing tracer on the ship right now. Again. Her hands flew over the console’s controls before her gaze had landed on them, instinct serving as a superior autopilot to the built-in one she’d accidentally destroyed while taking off with her eyes closed that time on Dantooine. It’d been a dare.

“C’mon c’mon c’mon,” Siennh muttered, flipping switches and toggles, hastily reading screens - at one point she needed to stand to pull a lever at the other end of the console. She’d kill a man to defend the XS stock light freighter’s honour, but quick getaways were impossible without a co-pilot. Plus, she had to provide her own anxiety-fuelled banter.

“Punch it!” Siennh shouted as the _ Ayydaesha _started lifting.

“Calm down, Captain,” she responded to herself, in an Imperial accent.

A screen in the right corner of the console flashed red and emitted beeps more passive-aggressive than a Core World senator in a morning meeting on half a cup of caf. The ship stalled mid-air.

Growling, she flicked another series of switches. “Don’t you ‘Captain’ me!”

“That’s your title, Captain!”

The _ Ayydaesha _lurched forward, thrusters coming to life with an eager roar - and blasterfire ricocheted off the transparisteel viewport, not powerful enough to dent, but higher-impact than a regular rifle’s capabilities. Draxiss.

Siennh gripped the clutch to activate the hyperdrive as the sublight drive fired. “Says who?”

“You, all the time!”

Yes, a firstmate sure seemed like a great idea in moments like these (once a week, on average), but the thought was always unceremoniously scuttled as soon as she breached the gravity well and made the jump to lightspeed.

Time and space stretched to propel her forward with a sound that couldn’t exist in the vacuum of realspace and a thrill that couldn’t be provoked in the seediest cantinas. She searched and searched, but at the end of the day, the rush of a literal lifetime could be found with eyes closed, standing perfectly still. Sitting. Whatever. Not that she did either often.

“Why the hell d’you listen to me?” she grumbled, consulting the nav chart.

“Because you’re the Captain,” she answered cheerfully.

Hyperspace vanished, an inky ocean dotted with stars glittering around the viewport, and Siennh was in her element.


	3. Cipher Nine

**Early **10** ATC  
****_The Citadel, Dromund Kaas_**

Niayes was in awe.

She stared at the mound of pale blue jelly, transfixed.

Her ruby-painted lips formed a tiny ‘O’ as she lifted a dessert fork. The jelly quivered from her light poking. Once, twice. Thrice? This was getting ridiculous.

Watcher Two determined that she'd observed her newest agent from afar long enough. It’d been exactly thirty-six hours since the Chiss had received a coveted Cipher designation...and she was sitting alone in the cafeteria, playing with her food. _ Dessert_. She hadn't even touched the actual main course yet.

Cipher Nine remained enthralled by her jelly. As she approached the table, Watcher Two willed herself to keep steady and stay focused. Too fast, and she’d rouse suspicion; too cautious, and any subsequent interaction would start on a tense note.

Cipher Nine looked up, outward demeanor quickly shifting from contemplative to..._ happy__?_

“Oh, hi!” chirped Niayes, before Watcher Two could utter any of the lines she’d mentally rehearsed. Niayes pushed the opposite chair out with her foot. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk. Why don’t you sit?”

Smiling tersely, Watcher Two set her tray down, painfully hyperaware of the stiffness of her motions. She noticed that Niayes was still clutching the fork; the jelly received one last poke, then Niayes beamed across the table.

“How have you been settling in?” asked Watcher Two, wincing internally at the sound of her own voice. Small talk came about as naturally to her as sunbathing did to a Wampa.

“It’s been great!” Niayes’ smile widened. “Everyone’s helpful, even with how busy we are.”

‘Everyone’ referred to the elite team permanently based at Imperial Intelligence’s main headquarters at the Citadel, at the heart of Kaas City. They were relatively close-knit and definitely understaffed. Right now several of them were observing their conversation from various vantage points around the room. Watcher Two’s colleagues had also had the foresight to ensure that Kaliyo Djannis would be safely occupied while she gleaned whatever information she could about their newest recruit.

Over the next few minutes, the Cipher’s body language became increasingly animated, unguarded to a fault; her near-continuous gesticulations were expansive and creative as she cycled through a greater variety of expressions in seconds than the Watcher had seen throughout the entire morning of meetings. When Keeper had claimed the Ascendancy sent their brightest, she’d assumed he’d been talking about _ ingenuity__,_ not....disposition.

She could only assume that they were trying to offload liabilities.

“It’s really amazing here in Kaas City,” Niayes said - and paused to practically gulp for air, “so _ exciting_. I didn’t realise there’d be so much to see, but it's like a - like a coral reef with all the activity around, it feels like the city is _alive_, like, just walking down the street there’s always a nearby patrol - ”

It soon became apparent that Cipher Nine fluctuated between breathless, borderline _ bouncy _enthusiasm and a sort of dreamy state whenever she was listening or thinking for more than a second. Watcher Two couldn’t tell if she was actually processing any information. And the lack of visible pupils contributed to the ambiguity.

It was an odd personality for a top agent, unlike any she'd met before. But that could easily be explained by Niayes’ comparative lack of training, and almost every other agent Watcher Two had previously handled had been killed in action. Keeper, of all people, possessed bizarre faith in Cipher Nine’s abilities. This warranted further investigation. Talking had failed to reveal anything new or particularly useful to Watcher Two, so it was time for a more proactive approach.

She waited for Cipher Nine’s dreamy phase to begin again. With a soft gasp, Watcher Two ‘accidentally’ elbowed her own drink canister off the table - Niayes’ hand immediately shot out to catch it.

“Whoops,” she said cheerfully, setting the canister back by Watcher Two’s tray. “Good thing the lid is on.”

“Yes. Thank you,” added Watcher Two.

Niayes waved her off merrily and shovelled another forkful of jelly into her mouth.

“Mmm, this is so good,” she declared. She covered her half-full mouth with one delicate hand, eyelids fluttering in what must surely be exaggerated enjoyment. “This is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

All right. If she insisted on raving about it, it could be important. Watcher Two took a small bite of her portion, chewed, and had to consciously stop herself from frowning. Maybe Cipher Nine _ was _an excellent liar after all.

* * *

The current Minister of Intelligence was an elusive figure rarely encountered at headquarters anymore. Years at the post had finally exacerbated his trained paranoia; he was, quite literally, near the end of his rope. His deteriorating nerves left Kaas City’s Keeper to handle his responsibilities, especially those involving the Sith.

Thus, Keeper was one heartbeat or misstep away from climbing to the highest rung a non-Force sensitive could reach in the Sphere of Intelligence. It was almost a certainty. _ Why _he wanted to be there was a mystery to everyone he knew...including himself, some days.

A long meeting had just ended without budget cuts, lengthy arguments, or casualties. That meant it was time for a five-minute lunch break, which was four minutes longer than usual. He halted in one of the cafeteria’s doorways and spent a moment scanning the area, an unshakeable habit from his long-past days as a field agent. It didn’t take much effort for him to see that most of his people were working together to size up the newcomer. Honestly, did they think they were being _ subtle? _

But if Cipher Nine noticed, she wasn’t tipping her hand, or even strategically flashing it. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was either blissfully oblivious or not as paranoid as the others. Yet.

Keeper walked past her table without pause.

“...and Sith opera is _ so _incredibly fascinating,” she was gushing to Watcher Two, stabbing a dessert fork into the air at random intervals, “and if I end up spending a lot of time in the city between missions I was thinking I could look into getting involved with it or the Outreach Bureau since I probably shouldn’t be known as a member of Intelligence all the time and I'm used to…”

Keeper had spent around a decade in his current position, two decades prior with other Intelligence designations, plus had an initial posting in the navy. He’d never heard anyone audibly skip punctuation as thoroughly as Cipher Nine.

Her friendliness had aided their follow-up talks securing Tibunna gas from Nem’ro the Hutt; her naivety had helped her survive Darth Jadus’ interest until his death. At this junction, he’d accept that hints of excessive kindness were preferable to an agent who bludgeoned their way through every assignment. But in their line of work, idealism was either the first thing to die or the cause of death and Keeper was waiting for the day that she hit a full stop.


	4. Watcher Five

Watcher Five was insufferable.

That was the general consensus around HQ. But he was also indispensable in case of emergency, which meant he was tolerated and occasionally sort of-liked whenever he proved useful, like an old towel or an extra tube of ration paste.

In one corner of the cafeteria, Watcher Two continued speaking to Cipher Nine, looking increasingly baffled. At the opposite end of the room, Watcher Five was practically climbing his table in a transparent attempt to invade Kaliyo’s personal space without standing. Kaliyo, in turn, was trying to insult him without speaking.

She made a series of quick, likely obscene gestures, smirking more than her default expression. Watcher Five relented for a second to briefly swivel his head in Cipher Nine’s direction. Then he braced his hands on both sides of the table’s surface and leaned in even further.

Everyone sitting at a nearby table absorbed the sight in mesmerized silence.

Fixer Twelve snorted. “He’s just peeved ‘cause he won’t be Keeper’s special alien anymore.” 

“It has to be deeper than that,” protested Minder Fourteen, twisting in her seat to address Fixer Twelve directly. “A family rivalry in the Ascendancy, maybe? One that ended while he was gone, so it’s still fresh in his mind while she’s gotten over it?”

“Maybe she wasn’t even part of the family yet,” Fixer Two suggested, “and that's why it seems so one-sided.”

“That’s possible,” Fourteen said. 

Kaliyo sucked a pea up her drinking straw and shot it at Watcher Five’s face. He didn’t react. She did it again.

“Maybe we should’ve asked someone else,” said Fixer Twelve. 

“I think he’s doing well,” Watcher Three offered. The rest grunted ambiguously and shifted their focus back to Watcher Two’s conversation with Cipher Nine. 

Several peas later, Watcher Five snatched the straw from Kaliyo’s hand and tried to break it in half. Unsuccessfully.

Kaliyo’s raucous peals of laughter rang throughout the cafeteria - Cipher Nine turned instinctively and the table of Intelligence employees ducked their heads in different directions. Too bad Cipher Nine's unusual eyes meant they didn’t know exactly where she was looking.

Good thing Watcher Five was able to tell. He lifted his chin, meeting Nine’s gaze, eyes slightly narrowed. They held their positions for several seconds of indiscernible emotion. Kaliyo flicked another pea at him with her fingers.

* * *

Watcher Three fell into step beside Watcher Two upon finding himself walking down the same hallway.

“How’d it go?” he asked. 

“She’s quick-witted and perfectly charming,” said Two.

“So...you didn’t learn much.”

“On the contrary, she practically recounted her life story. At least, whatever she's allowed to say. It took five minutes and eleven seconds. So far the epitome of excitement seems to have been Hutta.”

Watcher Two was just about to elaborate when Watcher Five happened to exit from a room in front of them. The Watchers naturally adjusted their paces to match each other's.

“Did you learn anything from Kaliyo?” Two asked Five.

“Three new swear words, and I’m pretty sure they all mean ‘fuck’.”

“Maybe you can interview Cipher Nine next time,” Watcher Three suggested.

“She’s interested in Sith opera,” said Watcher Two. “You could accompany her to a show.”

That earned an exceptionally emphatic scoff. Watcher Two ducked into the next room they passed with a curt “see you”.

“Uh...so, what’s Kaliyo like?” asked Watcher Three, mostly in an attempt to fill the quiet. Silence in headquarters tended to feel especially oppressive to him.

Watcher Five caught his drift. “I told her to eat her vegetables and she protested.”

Weird, but plausible. “And the glance at Cipher Nine?”

“Kaliyo brought it to my attention that she’d spent at least five minutes picking at a salad with the same fork she’d used for her jelly. When Cipher Nine realised it, she tried to finish the salad using a spoon.”

“Uh?”

“Human utensils are a bit of a mystery to...non-acclimatized Chiss,” Watcher Five explained, his tongue lolling slightly over the last few words. “The normal sizes are familiar, but once they start getting tiny or wide or missing prongs, things go sideways.” Watcher Three had to pause to collect his thoughts; Five interpreted his unresponsiveness as doubt. “It might be easier to eat salad with a spoon,” he added affably. 

“Right.”

“Anyway, I told Kaliyo she was capable of using her own utensils or, if she preferred, she could eat in the traditional Rattataki way by shoving her entire face onto the plate and licking it until it had a hole.”

“...So she started spitting peas at you with the straw.”

Watcher Five smiled. “Exactly.” He gave a friendly parting nod and disappeared down the next corridor.

Watcher Three didn’t believe him for more than a second. 


	5. Operation: Talon

….Connecting to server

….Clearance level confirmed: **Cresh**

WELCOME, WATCHER TWO

Please input command. 

...Opening dossier: **Cipher Nine **

_ STATUS: _ Active  
_ NAME: _ REDACTED  
_ SPECIES: _ Chiss  
_ HOMEWORLD: _ Copero   
_ GENDER: _ Female   
_ PLANET: _ Dromund Kaas   
_ OVERSEER: _ Keeper - Kaas City  
_ PRIMARY HANDLER: _ Watcher Two   
_ AUXILIARY HANDLERS: _Watcher Three, Watcher Five 

...Opening **SUMMARY **

Cipher Nine is a chief field operative in Operation: Talon. Despite her inexperience, the late Darth Jadus expressed personal interest in her career as an undesignated agent. She was instrumental in subduing the slave rebellion at the Unfinished Colossus, as well as preventing attacks on the Dark Temple and in the streets of Kaas City. Cipher Nine received her designation after the destruction of the dreadnought _Dominator _ and is currently awaiting assignment. 

View medical records [11]  
View psychological evaluations [15]  
View demerits [0]  
View commendations [7]  
More...

...Opening records: **Operations**

_ Red Sun: _ Posing as THE RED BLADE for a month, secured Tibunna gas from Nem’ro the Hutt. Status: Success.  
_ Talon: _ An interplanetary emergency initiative to curb terrorist cells united under the so-called ‘Eagle’, who claim responsibility for the death of Darth Jadus and the destruction of the _Dominator_. Status: Ongoing. 

...Opening records: **Background **

Access denied. 

...Opening records: **Education**

Access denied. 

...Opening records: **Family **

Access denied. 

* * *

“Yawn,” said Kaliyo. 

Niayes laughed, slightly louder than warranted. “You know, instead of saying ‘yawn’, you could just...yawn.” 

“I wouldn’t leave my mouth open for more than a half-second in this place. A Sith dick might fly in.” Their gazes drifted towards the semi-open air taxi terminal, and Kaliyo’s lips thinned into a fresh smirk. “_Speaking _of dicks…” 

Watcher Five waited there, alone. The afternoon shower had progressed to an evening downpour, but he seemed unconcerned by the rain spraying his shoulder. Niayes waved at him on instinct. To her mild surprise, he beckoned them over, his expression blank. 

“Hi, Thrisc,” she said, her smile ratcheting up to a beam. 

“Cipher Nine.” He'd ignored her deliberate usage of his core name. “I heard about your interest in Sith opera. What a surprise. I’m bemused, bothered, and bewildered.” 

“You ought to audition, too,” Niayes suggested. 

“Tradition dictates that you only qualify for a role like Alien Slave #5,” said Thrisc. 

“Maybe #4, if she’s lucky,” Kaliyo drawled.

“I’d prefer #9.” Niayes' mouth twitched into a smile. Imperials probably couldn’t tell when Thrisc was particularly disapproving, since most aliens struggled to read Chiss expressions, but his emotions were plain as day to her. Well, non-Dromund Kaas day. “Naturally.” 

“What are you doing, Cipher?” he questioned. “Are you so discontent with glamorizing one thankless job that you’re pursuing two?” 

“As I recall, I was thanked quite a few times on Hutta.”

“By Evocii. It doesn’t count.” Thrisc shifted his weight onto his other foot. “I’d tell you to break a leg, but there’s a good chance you’d actually do it.” 

“You know me,” Niayes said brightly, “always following your advice to the letter.” 

A taxi landing behind Thrisc did nothing to deter him from his scrutiny. Niayes continued beaming in response until Kaliyo snorted and grabbed her by the arm. 

“C’mon, Agent.” Kaliyo hauled her to the taxi, brusquely shoving past Watcher Five in the process. “If you’re not gonna rip out the stick up his ass and beat him with it, I’m not interested.” 

Niayes flashed Watcher Five an apologetic smile as the door shut. 

* * *

Imperial Intelligence had granted Niayes a fancy, spacious apartment not far from the Citadel. At first it’d been roughly as inviting as a rancor dipped in gold paint. Within less than a month, detritus had swallowed every surface in the living room (some literal, courtesy of Kaliyo), the seats had been adorned with nonthreatening throw pillows, and the sound system had been used almost as often as the light controls. 

Niayes stood at the kitchen counter, struggling to make sense of a HoloNet recipe buried somewhere in a rambling anecdote about Naboo lake retreats. A few paces away, Kaliyo had sprawled over a couch, her mud-streaked boots propped up on one end. 

“So we’re clear, right?” said Kaliyo. “Imperial rations are _ nasty_, and I lived on grubs and two-credit wine for a year. They raise you on those things - no wonder you’re a bunch of stiffs.” 

“I was raised in the Chiss Ascendancy,” Niayes reminded her, ending with a fond chuckle. “We don’t _ do _Imperial rations.”

“Yeah, you’re blue, but you’ve still got the accent.” Kaliyo straightened, only to sink back down in a different kind of slouch. “What’s up with that? Creepy as hell hearing it from you guys.” 

“Some Chiss were born in the Empire, or they’ve lived here for years. The rest of us picked it up from our families or holovids or the Academy, I suppose. Mine is the product of all three.”

“Your parents were Imps?” 

“Not exactly, but they fought in the war.” Niayes paused mid-stir; she tapped her chin thoughtfully with the spoon handle, splattering sauce onto the counter. “Well, not 'fought', in the traditional sense. Anyway, this isn't entirely my real accent.”

“Say something in your real accent.”

“Something in your real accent,” said Niayes, in her real accent. 

Kaliyo tilted her head. “Huh. Still pretty Imperial. Here’s what I don’t get: you’ve got a bit of brass, a bit of style - ”

Niayes licked a dollop of sauce off her index finger. “Why, thank you.” 

“You’re not _ totally _one of them. Yet you still play Keeper’s pet, when you could be off doing…” Kaliyo exhaled through her nose, waving flippantly. “Whatever.” 

“I get to adventure in a war-torn galaxy closed-off to my great-great-great grandparents, infiltrate a variety of organisations, and pretend to be someone else, including people richer and more powerful than I am. Legally. And for profit!” 

“I’ll give you that, but there’re other ways.”

“Not for most Chiss.” 

“You could’ve gone corporate. Lots of Mirialans in tech lately.” 

This time, Niayes’ laugh was halting. “Right. Because that’s less shady.” The sauce had fallen into critical danger of failing, but she mused that she could salvage it into a broth. Or a paste. Or a...savoury toast spread. “I’ll stick to spywork, thanks. It’s a better reason to play dress-up and build fake identities.” 

“I thought that _ was _spywork.”

Niayes shrugged. “To me, it's really all about relationships. It always is.”

“Ah. I getcha.” Kaliyo winked. 

“Not _that _way,” Niayes protested, and was ignored. 

* * *

“So,” said Niayes, in a dramatically hushed tone, “will my ship be waiting at the spaceport, or will I have to fetch it from a secret location in the jungle?”

Watcher Three seemed to give her question serious consideration before hesitantly declaring, “Spaceport.”

Instead of eating in the mess hall, Operation: Talon’s top Watchers had sequestered themselves in the main control room. Niayes had stumbled upon their meeting while searching for Kaliyo and, following an all-around awkward pause, Watcher Two had invited her to join them. It could be educational, she had said. Fun, she had said. 

Watcher Two took a small bite of her salad, swallowed with a quickness to rival the darting of her eyes. “I have new details from other planetside stations, plus a dispatch from Vaiken Spacedock.”

“Do you ever stop working?” wondered Niayes.

“No,” Watchers Two and Five said in unison. Watcher Three echoed them a second too late. 

Keeper had tasked them with brainstorming improvements to planetary security. Other Intelligence headquarters had already suggested increased patrols in neighbourhoods with high alien density and mapped out more checkpoints from the spaceport to Kaas City, among other measures. 

“There’s no evidence to suggest the Eagle has other cells on Dromund Kaas,” said Watcher Two, “but it’s best to be careful.” 

“Aside from the slave rebellion, Dromund Kaas cells tend to be small,” Watcher Five explained, presumably for Niayes’ benefit, maybe just because he enjoyed hearing his own voice. “They’ve been disorganised and ineffective until now.”

“Sometimes Sith like to manipulate them during power plays,” Watcher Two added, “hence our earlier lack of direct action. We’ve already discussed the slaves rebelling at the Unfinished Colossus. The next largest threat is a group of free alien dissidents, which doesn’t fit our definition of a terror cell. Yet.” 

“Plus, planetside Sith have relayed evidence of some...” Watcher Three scrolled down his datapad. “Clandestine cult worshiping a dead Jedi?” 

Watcher Two nodded and punched a few keys on her own datapad. “It’s worth investigating further.” 

“And when did they learn about this?” Thrisc questioned.

“Unclear,” answered Watcher Three, a small wince betraying his discomfort. “I’d say around a month ago, cross-referencing their reports with recent events. They...implied that the _ Dominator’s _destruction was what forced them to share intel.” 

“I see.” Watcher Two spoke in a clipped tone that almost successfully masked her disapproval. 

“Sith?” asked Niayes.

“Agents,” Watcher Two answered, curtly. 

“We should look into wrangling activist groups in general, locking up a few suspected dissidents to remind them who’s in charge,” suggested Watcher Five. “The Eagle’s broadcast may have emboldened them.”

“Or he may have allies inside. Pull up the registration list,” Watcher Two told Three.

“On it.” Watcher Three looked up, frowning. “Do we need profiles, or just names?” 

“Half of the names,” Watcher Two decided. “We can draw lots.” 

Niayes’ entire body jerked upright. “So...you don’t actually know if they’ve done anything wrong?” 

“They’re self-declared critics of the Empire, Cipher,” Watcher Two said. “That’s already pushing the limit.” 

“But if they _ registered,_ doesn’t that mean they’re cooperative?” 

“It means they’re probably complacent,” Watcher Five said, staring down at his datapad with a calculated air of disinterest. “The easiest to catch.” 

“Others will lose faith in the system,” Niayes tried to point out. 

“That’s why we’re only picking a few and saying they acted out,” he replied. “The rest will either be scared into better compliance, or get overconfident in their ability to hide and reveal how dangerous they really are.” 

“Or they could panic and lash out,” said Niayes. 

“They wouldn’t necessarily be successful,” Watcher Two reasoned. “Besides, they’re small groups. We've calculated the potential cost of every scenario. It’s been deemed acceptable.” 

“I understand.” Niayes smiled diplomatically. “But I can’t help worrying about how our projections have been wrong before. As in, last week.” 

A pin dropped onto the room’s floor would’ve sounded like an explosion. Thankfully, at that exact moment, an overeager grey astromech droid wheeled up to the table with a tray of full tea cups. Cipher Nine accepted one and tilted it to take a prolonged sip. She hadn’t really thought she could change the Watchers’ minds, of course, to say nothing of putting a dent in the existing system - but she’d expected, _ hoped _for more of a remorseful reaction. 

“We don’t have time to investigate any of these groups thoroughly,” insisted Watcher Two, “much less one by one.” 

“What if I looked into it, when I have the time?” Niayes asked. The Watchers looked varying degrees of skeptical ranging from contemplative to irritated, in the order of Three, Two, and Five. “Like you said, we don’t have any evidence that the Eagle had a wider support network here, but we also don’t have any evidence that he _ didn’t_.”

“You’re biting off more than you can chew,” said Watcher Five. 

Niayes blinked twice. “It’s either that or the Sith opera.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you’re not going to try both.” 

“We can discuss it with Keeper later,” said Watcher Two. She fixed Thrisc with a critical eye. “In the meantime, let’s focus, please.” 

* * *

The meeting adjourned without any further noteworthy problems. Rounding the corner, Niayes narrowly avoided an inglorious collision with the serving astromech from earlier. 

“Hello, there,” she said.

“<<<_ Keeper+Cipher Nine=Speak in his office. _ >>>” The astromech rattled its tray impatiently, and she couldn't resist steadying one of the empty cups. “<<< _ Cipher Nine=go now _.>>>” And, as if it didn’t trust her not to wander off, it followed on her heels. 

Keeper occupied the biggest office in their building, as cold and impersonal as she remembered from her first debriefing. The door slid shut without a sound. The astromech glided to a corner of the office, almost as soundless. 

“Cipher, come in. Remote, jam any incoming signals or outgoing transmissions,” Keeper told the droid briskly. “Run white noise on loop for four minutes.” 

While Niayes wondered what sort of serving droid had a built-in signal jammer, Keeper left his desk to cross the room until he stood in front of her. He was a head taller, yet he didn’t loom threateningly or tower like a Sith or the most intense of her Academy instructors. That was all the more unnerving. She stood at attention, awaiting his instruction, unsure what to do with her face.

“At ease, Cipher. Since the white noise is running, I’ll take the opportunity to reiterate my earlier question: why did you join Imperial Intelligence? Speak freely.” 

She already had the job and the ship. She could relax. “I’d repeat my exact answer...adding that since a young age, I’ve been fascinated by the pursuit of truth. About others and the galaxy and myself.” She only received ambiguous staring in response. “I realise my career choice seems as counterproductive as it could possibly be, but it really is the best option, because one can’t be a very good liar if one doesn't know the truth.”

Keeper’s expression stayed unchanged. “And what stage do you think you’re currently at?”

“I’m a bad liar.”

“Well. At least you’re honest.” 

Niayes resisted the urge to fidget. “Um. Would you like to sit down, sir?” 

“I prefer meeting agents this way,” said Keeper. “If I’m sitting and they’re standing, who’s truly in a position of power?”

“I thought sitting shows that you deserve to be comfortable while your subordinates are on their toes. So to speak.” 

“That’s a superficial interpretation of power. Strategically, sitting is a passive position with limited reach. Plus, it may foster unnecessary resentment.” 

“Well, you could always put a chair in front of your desk, and everyone could sit.” 

The silence that followed could be described as ‘awkward’ in the way that a chemical burn could be described as ‘itchy’. 

“What’s your assessment of your team?” asked Keeper. 

“I think they’re great, sir.” Niayes beamed. “They seem very capable. I know it hasn’t been easy, accepting an inexperienced agent, but...” 

“Watchers Two and Three have expressed faith in your abilities,” said Keeper. “I daresay Watcher Two cautiously looks forward to overseeing you, a rare occurrence for her. But Watcher Five is unhappy with your assignment.”

“I’ve noticed. I’m not surprised. Respectfully,” Niayes added, “if this is an attempt to sow discord between your top two Chiss personnel - to keep us sharp or encourage productive competition or something along those lines - it won’t work.”

“Careful, Cipher,” Keeper warned. 

“He’s trying to do it himself,” she finished. 

Keeper took her revelation without so much as a blink. “I don’t tolerate backstabbing in my division - especially not at such a volatile time. I expect you to work together. Save the subterfuge for the terrorists. ” 

“It won’t be a problem, sir.”

“Good.” 

“May I ask an odd question, sir?” 

“Speak quickly.” 

“Why do we call them ‘terrorists’?” blurted Niayes. Judging by the slight widening of his eyes, Keeper regretted his instruction. “It’s just that I thought that fear is supposed to be a big part of the Sith philosophy. You asked Darth Jadus to leave because he was scaring everyone in the control room - he was practically pure fear concentrated in one person. And Kaliyo said some Sith are scared of us because we’re their ‘secret police’. So there’s an acceptable, essential daily dose of institutional terror...but random acts of violence from civilians are called ‘terrorism’ even though their goal isn’t really spreading terror so much as a warped concept of _ empowerment?” _

Keeper sighed. “I don’t know, Cipher. The distinction may have something to do with terrorists’ over-reliance on explosions, or the relative unpopularity of thesauri.”

“Is that the plural of ‘thesaurus’? Not ‘thesauruses’?”

_“One _odd question, Cipher. And I’m going to stop you before you veer dangerously close to sedition.” 

Niayes’ interlaced fingers flexed, poor conduits for her anxiety. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” 

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’,” said Keeper, impassively. “Though I suppose it’s a habit from Cheunh honorifics, isn’t it? Just be careful around Sith. Some enjoy being called ‘my Lord’ at the end of every sentence. Others don’t interpret it as charitably.” 

“Thanks for the advice.” She paused. “Keeper.”

Keeper clasped his hands behind his back. “Now, I called you here to give you additional instructions. I’m delivering a package to your apartment. It must be guarded carefully.” He cast a quick glance at Remote; when his gaze dragged back to Niayes, it had intensified past its usual iciness. “It’s a collection of holodiscs. Most were recorded during the Great Galactic War. Some were recorded within the first year of the Cold War. They were originally intended to be instructional vids for certain recruits, but the idea never came to fruition, for reasons I trust you’ll be able to deduce once you’ve seen the first one.” 

Niayes cocked her head. “Understood, Keeper.”

“Try not to watch them all in a single sitting,” he added dryly. 

“No binge-watching the super-secret package. Got it.” Niayes flashed a dazzling smile that wavered when confronted by Keeper’s antipathy. “Anything else?”

“None of your colleagues are authorised to know, including Kaliyo Djannis or any of the Watchers. This should go without saying, but watch them _ alone._ ” 

Ah, the dreaded A-word. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.” 

Remote switched off the white noise and swiftly escorted Niayes to the door like he was trying to sweep the floor. When she stepped into the hallway, her colleagues interpreted her dazed expression as mission-induced stoicism and said nothing about the blue jelly splotch on her jacket. 

* * *

Early the next morning, Niayes leapt out of bed half an hour before her alarm had been set to go off. She poked her head into the guest bedroom and chirped a greeting to Kaliyo, who groaned and chucked a throw pillow at her. They didn’t have much to pack - Kaliyo barely owned anything that wasn’t armor or a weapon, and Niayes figured she’d buy new clothes wherever she went, to better blend in. 

No sunlight dramatically flooded the hangar as the _ Phantom _ was unveiled. On Dromund Kaas, there never would be. But it didn’t matter. At first glance, the _ Phantom _ was like the exact opposite of the contents of Niayes’ mind poured into an excessively expensive bendy drinking glass, solidified, and crafted into a starship, sleek and spotless silver. 

She _ loved _it. 

Kaliyo pushed off the safety rail with both palms. “All right, I gotta hand it to your bosses, it does look better than that last guy I screwed with.”

Niayes almost added something along the lines of, _ And it’ll complain less when it’s ridden,_ but as soon as her thoughts caught up to the instinct she wanted to remove her brain and scrub it raw. 

The pre-programmed tour ended faster than expected - evidently the ship's facotum droid was also unfamiliar with the _Phantom'_s full features. Niayes sat at the edge of her new bed, planted her bare feet on the carpeted floor, and absently bounced up and down. Something about stylish, impersonal coolness never failed to ignite the imagination. 

She ignored her suitcase for now and stepped back outside, just in time to hear the ship's holoterminal blip with an incoming call. Kaliyo smacked the ‘accept’ button.

Watcher Five’s holoimage materialised in a shower of blue sparks. 

“Cipher Nine,” he said, then glanced in Kaliyo’s direction. “Worst One.” Kaliyo flipped him off with both hands. “How is the ship?” 

“It’s amazing,” enthused Niayes. “Even the lighting is spectacular. Imperial Intelligence should be proud of its designers.” 

“So glad you approve.” His voice was flatter than a Tionese pancake; he whipped out that damned datapad and undoubtedly pretended to consult it. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed our top priorities down to the most influential cells on Balmorra and Nar Shaddaa. We highly recommend Balmorra, before the civil war worsens, but the decision is yours.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” 

“Mmm. Sure.” Niayes bit her lower lip, tapped her foot in a staccato rhythm and looked around as if she was searching for something. “Any suggestions about what to name the _ Phantom__?”_

“Why bother?” Watcher Five’s face barely lifted from reading his datapad. _“__You _don’t have a name.”

_ “I’d _ know it exists.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’ll be very helpful when you’re inevitably talking to your sh-”

Thrisc's holoimage fizzled out, replaced by Keeper’s. 

“Cipher Nine, suspend all nonessential activities,” Keeper ordered, sounding almost as harried as he had in the immediate aftermath of the _ Dominator’_s destruction. “You have more immediate orders now. Darth Jadus’ successor has just been confirmed.” At the mention of Jadus, Niayes' throat constricted like she’d swallowed a whole brick of ice. “His daughter - Darth Zhorrid - has gone to Korriban to take his position. She wants to meet with you.” 

Niayes exchanged shocked glances with Kaliyo. 

“He had a _ daughter?”_ Niayes asked. “A daughter he...personally trained?” 

“It took me by surprise, as well,” Keeper admitted. “Zhorrid is Jadus’ only apprentice. According to Sith law, that should’ve guaranteed her his seat. But there were...complications. They’ve been resolved. Meet with her at the Council chambers in the Sith Academy on Korriban and treat her with the respect due to one who speaks for the Emperor.”

“But I barely knew Jadus,” Niayes protested, turning the onslaught of new information over in her mind and finding that no angle made sense. “Why the blazes would she want to speak to me?” 

“In truth, I have no idea what she wants with you. Be cautious.” He nodded grimly. “Keeper out.” 

Niayes blinked at the holoterminal in the ensuing silence, stunned. 

With a shrug, Kaliyo headed in the lounge’s direction. “I'm gonna check what kind of booze Imps stock.” 

“Wait for me,” Niayes croaked. 

* * *

Nine hours to Korriban. Niayes had spent the past three in bed, reading from her datapad, about nothing in particular. Finally, she huffed and slid off the mattress. 

Niayes opened the suitcase lying at the bed. Haphazardly folded clothing covered Keeper's box of holodiscs. She pressed her thumb to the box's biometric scanner. Inside, there must’ve been around twenty discs in total, each labelled with a date and arranged in chronological order. 

She selected the first disc, dated 16 BTC. She slotted it into the computer terminal on her desk.

Onscreen, a written introduction slowly scrolled upwards as an Imperial voiceover read along, presumably for accessibility’s sake: 

“_So you’ve been assigned to infiltrate an enemy group...” _

What appeared next made her jaw drop. 

The narrator was a Chiss woman. Square-jawed, jet black-haired, wearing an Imperial Intelligence jacket. She radiated sternness which could put Keeper to shame, and spoke with Standard Imperial enunciation layered over a hint of a Csaplar accent. 

_“As an ‘alien’, you have several unique advantages. Humans may be unable to tell you apart from the rest of your species. They'll have difficulty reading your face...in my species' case, I believe it's the eyes. They’ll likely react with less suspicion if you make a mistake, attributing your oddness to your otherness. But don’t make a habit of it.”_

Heart pounding, Niayes scrambled for her personal holocomm - but she caught herself just in time and reluctantly returned it to her desk. 

_ “Aliens may be a different story, _ ” the Chiss continued, after several minutes spent dissecting human customs with straight-laced condescension. “_Depending on your species, you may face suspicion. At time of recording, slave species share a sense of camaraderie. In that regard, Chiss are outsiders. But there may be growing tension between slave species, due to changes to entry requirements for the Sith Academy on Korriban. I predict that within the next decade, more Zabraks and Kaleesh will rank among the Sith. _”

She’d been correct. Niayes hadn’t spent much time thinking about interspecies relations in the Sith Empire, but that explained why some Kaas City aliens seemed more intimidated by Niayes than by Kaliyo, even though their disparate levels of friendliness couldn’t be more obvious. 

_ “But I digress. To ingratiate yourself, it’s most effective to bond with individual members on a personal level. Ask about their lives while offering little of your fabricated identity. Share food, belongings, and anecdotes. Maybe even some true ones. Touch them. And don’t underestimate the power of silence. _” 

The woman’s tense jaw tightened further. _“You will get attached or you will fail. You will overcome that attachment, or you will fail.”_

Niayes gulped. For a second she remembered stony faces eerily lit in dark rooms, pointed questions, chilly air and chillier dispositions. 

_ “Cipher Nine out_.” 


End file.
